Glacier Bay National Park
What’s that noise? It sounds like thunder!
We had traversed nearly 65 miles ‘up bay’ to the top of Tarr Inlet to be greeted by the Grand Pacific and Margerie glaciers. The day was clear and visibility spectacular—you could see all the way to Canada from our vantage point! National Geographic Sea Bird maneuvered into position in front of the two massive rivers of ice. The sight was just like in the brochure, but overpowering and riveting by its enormously overwhelming scale. However, the booming sounds of cracking glacial ice were unexpected and we felt insignificantly small in the face of the power of nature.
Earlier in the day, we were treated to the sights and sounds of wildlife spotted along our route. South Marble Island brought a cacophony of roars from the large contingent of Steller sea lions hauled out on the small island’s perimeter. Birds of many species nest here as the remote cliffs afford some modicum of protection from predators while eggs are developing to produce a new generation of offspring. Gulls, kittiwakes, tufted puffins, common murres and black oystercatchers squawked and were easily identified after a post-breakfast introduction and sighting lesson from our park ranger, Marylou Blakeslee. Further up bay, we sighted a brown bear foraging in the intertidal, another munching on the tall grasses at Russell Cut; and nanny mountain goats with recently born kids in the “safety” of the ever-so steep, mostly-predator free cliffs of Gloomy Knob.
Throughout the day our park ranger and our Tlingit cultural interpreter, Bertha Franulovich, helped our guests on their voyage of discovery to comprehend the almost unimaginable forces at work in Glacier Bay. What would you do if your neighborhood glacier suddenly skipped over its terminal moraine (as a result of a build-up of lubricating melt water under the ice) and came surging downhill, crushing everything in its path? The Hoonah Tlingits, native inhabitants of Glacier Bay, were faced with just such circumstances in the mid 1700s. They adapted to their changed environment by relocating to their winter village miles further south in safety away from the threatening glacier.
The glacial thunder, like enormous cannon shots, was the glacier acknowledging our presence. It was followed by a series of explosive calvings of glacial ice from the face. And as the waves created by the dropping ice started to gently rock our small ship of exploration, we were convinced it was time to start our retreat to calmer waters and the safety of moving south once again.
